


The Contact

by alynwa



Series: Picfic Tuesday Challenge [33]
Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E.
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-28
Updated: 2013-05-28
Packaged: 2017-12-13 07:17:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 597
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/821524
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alynwa/pseuds/alynwa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Illya and Napoleon have to meet someone in New Orleans.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Contact

 

The two men moved along Bourbon Street in New Orleans’ French Quarter looking like the hundreds of other revelers celebrating Fat Tuesday.  Drinks in hand, the blond and brunet seemed more than a little inebriated as they walked giggling and shoulder bumping as they smiled at women who caught their eye.

“Napoleon,” the blond man said quietly in a stone cold sober voice, “many of these women are wearing masks; how will we recognize our contact?”

Napoleon’s answering smile was feral.  “Ah, moy droog, did I ever tell you that Sheila and I were kissing cousins?”

Illya snorted, “You are not cousins!”

“And we did more than kiss; the point being, the lady has a very unique birthmark that will be visible.  That and the red and black mask will identify her.”

They entered another bistro and were heading toward a back table when Illya gestured with his chin toward a small group of women at the bar.   “I see a mark on that woman’s cleavage, could that be her?”

“Grab that table, Tovarisch.  I’ll be right there,” Napoleon replied as he moved in the direction of the women.  Flashing his most charming smile, he leaned in and said something that caused all three women to hoot with laughter. He ordered from the bartender who poured five beers.  Napoleon claimed two and began to make his way to where Illya was sitting.  One of the women broke away from the other two and followed him to the table where Illya stood and pulled out a seat for her.

“Sheila, I presume?” the Russian asked.

“I surely am, Darlin’!  And you must be Ill – ya,” she replied in a soft Southern drawl, “Welcome to N’awlins!”

“Thank you and even though my partner insists on pronouncing my name that way, it is correctly pronounced ‘Eelya.’”  He shot a scowl in the American’s direction.

Napoleon waggled his eyebrows at his partner and said, “Well, now that all the introductions are out of the way, let’s get down to business, yes?”

Sheila nodded and removed her mask.  “THRUSH set up a new satrap in Timberlane, ‘bout three miles north as the crow flies.  Near as I can tell, it’s s’posed to be some type of archive.  I’ve seen some pretty big rigs headin’ up that way.”  She removed the ribbons from the mask and handed one to Napoleon.  “Here ya go, ‘Leon.  There’s a microdot on that one that gives all the info I got.”

“Thank you, as always, Sheila.”  He reached into his jacket and pulled out an envelope which she took and stuffed into her ample bosom.

“Pleasure doin’ business with ya, honey.  You two boys wanna stick around and hang out with me and my friends?”  She looked at the blond.  “They’d _really_ like you, Darlin’.  Ain’t too many Russkies around here.”

“Thank you, but no,” Illya replied stiffly.  He did not care for being called a “Russkie.”  

His partner read his posture and said to Sheila, “Illya and I need to get going, but maybe next time I’m in town you and I can have dinner.” 

All three stood and as Sheila turned to rejoin her friends she said, “Last chance, boys.”

Napoleon kissed her cheek and said “Goodnight” before heading toward the exit knowing his partner was behind him.  When they had walked down the street and around the corner he said, “We’ll check it out tomorrow.  Tonight, we’ll have dinner and check out the information on the microdot.”

Illya was grinning as he said, “That sounds like a plan, ‘Leon.”

“You’re a regular riot, Kuryakin.”


End file.
